


late night, date night

by DeconstructedIronhide (InsertCoolName)



Series: courting a Constructicon [2]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: 'Hide's besotted, BV Ironhide, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Gen, How Do I Tag, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Other, Team as Family, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, and G1 Constructicons, because this 'verse is alll about fucking around with stuff like that, for the structies???, like seriously, mostly it's just 'Hide and Mix, the others kinda show up in passing towards the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-26 18:02:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15006347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsertCoolName/pseuds/DeconstructedIronhide
Summary: Ironhide's lost track of time. And it'sdate night. But don't worry! He can still make it! He just has to get past the fournot exactly happy-looking Constructicons hovering around outside his workshop.





	late night, date night

**Author's Note:**

> A 'love me' drabble requested by an featuring @underconstructicons'... Constructicons. Mostly Mixmaster.
> 
> This is a bit old and, as usual, not beta read.

« _H-hey ‘Hide? I’m gonna be la-late. Scavenger wants some-someone to help with a project and n-no-no one else is h-here right now._ »

Ironhide startles at the commlink call, enough for him to knock over the crate of scrap metal he’s been sorting through. It falls to the floor of the workshop with a crash and Ironhide mutters a cursed “ _Primus_!” under his breath. He leans down to pick up some of the more important pieces, reaching down under the benchtop to grab at some battered bronze.

« _I_ _ronhide?_ »

The mech startles once more, jerking up only to hit his helm on the underside of the workbench. «Sorry, I’m here,» he comms back, crawling back off from under the workbench with the bronze in hand. «Sorry.»

« _Is everything alright?_ » Mixmaster sounds concerned, bless his spark. Ironhide chuckles nervously and stands, surveying the workshop floor.

«Yeah, just made a bit of a mess. Nothing dangerous,» he adds, spotting a lump of… something that appears to be giving off a soft green glow. He… doesn’t really want to touch it, not right now. He’s so jumpy he’ll probably end up dropping it and corroding something important, knowing his luck.

« _Tha-that isn’t very re-reassuring,_ » Mixmaster replies, sounding relieved nonetheless. Ironhide chuckles again, throwing the bronze back in the crate with another _clang!_

«What can I say,» he comms back, cheekily. «It’s a dangerous life I lead.»

Mixmaster giggles and Ironhide swears he can feel his fragging spark melt which, that’s fine, he doesn’t need that anyway. He tosses a few more pieces of metal in the crate, smiling like a loon. Gods above help him, he loves hearing Mixmaster laugh.

« _So is-is that OK, the-then? Me being l-late?_ »

«Of course,» Ironhide responds immediately, still grinning. «Take all the time you need. Your gestaltmates come first.» That was something that Mixmaster had made sure Ironhide understood when the weaponsmith had first asked him out, and something Ironhide has no problem with whatsoever. He’d be the exact same way, if the situation was reversed. He picks up one last hunk of twisted metal - more bronze - and tosses it in the air. «Tell him I might have some more materials for him, if he’s interested. Just got a few new crates in and there’s some good stuff in here.»

Mixmaster give a relieved sigh. « _Than-thanks, ‘Hide. I really a-appreciate it. I’m not sure_ w-where _every-everyone else is and all I can get from the b-bond is that none of them are-are exactly happy with someone. They’re all to-together, though, and safe, so I g-guess it’s OK_?»

Ironhide frowns, humming in agreement. Whoever that someone is probably going to be a pretty sorry bastard, if they’ve possibly got four _not exactly happy_ Constructicons going after them. «I’m sure they’ll be OK,» he says, tossing and catching the bronze once more. «If they do manage to get themselves in a bind you and me can go play backup and kick some aft.»

Much to Ironhide’s delight, that earns another giggle from the Constructicon. « _Thanks, ‘H-Hide,_ » he says again fondly, and frag if that doesn’t do even more to the weaponsmith’s spark than his laugh does. « _I can always count on you,_ » he teases.

«Always.»

The commlink falls silent for a moment after Ironhide’s little declaration, but it isn’t an uncomfortable silence. Ironhide’s still nervous as all fuck about their–their date, but he’s starting to think maybe he shouldn’t need to be. Talking to Mixmaster is easy. He likes the mech, really likes the mech, and Mixmaster seems to really like him back. In the end, that’s all that matters, right?

That’s what Ironhide thinks, at least.

He grins into the empty space of the workshop, just listening to the silence of the comm. and tossing the bronze from servo to servo. After a few moments, Mixmaster sighs. Ironhide wonders if the Constructicon wishes they could’ve just kept sitting on the link together as much as he does.

« _W-well, I’ve gotta go,_ » Mixmaster says, sounding sorry once more. « _Scavvy really should-shouldn’t be working with sprayp-paint on his own._ » There’s a pause and Ironhide think he hears what just may be the aforementioned artist of the Constructicons shouting about _“which blue should I use for the next part?”_ It makes Ironhide snicker. « _I’ll see you in an hour?_ »

Ironhide blinks in shock, tossing up the bronze. «An hour?» _Clang!_ «Ow! Sonuva–»

« _’Hide? What was that?_ »

«Nothing! Nothing!» Ironhide pushes himself off of the workbench, shaking his helm and rubbing a finial with a wince. He glances at his internal clock to find that _slag_ , he was supposed to be out of the workshop and getting ready for their date almost half an hour ago! «An hour is great, I can wait an hour.»

« _Are you s-sure? Maybe I can–_ »

«Nonsense,» Ironhide huffs, spinning around to look at the mess his area is in only to stop to look down at himself. Primus, he’s even messier than the workshop is! He looks like slag and smells like a smelter and damn him, it’ll take _forever_ for him to make himself even reasonably presentable.

Damn him!

Nervousness returning with the force of an enemy blow, Ironhide covers his face with his servos and barely holds back a groan at his foolishness. «Nonsense,» he says again. «Take as much time as you need, Mix.» He’ll definitely need it as well. He checks the nearest workbench once more, just to make sure he doesn’t need anything, then heads for the exit.

« _O-OK, ‘Hide,_ » the Constructicon says hesitantly. « _If it really is al-alright._ »

«Of course it is,» Ironhide replies, trying to remain calm. He shoves a small combustion engine out from in front of the door, not sure what it’s doing there but too rushed to care about it or the citations he would receive if Magnus were to ever find out. He pauses before keying the code in, giving one last small smile. «I can’t wait to see you, Mix.»

Suddenly sounding rather shy, Mixmaster quietly replies, « _M-me neither._ » There’s another shout in the background, then: « _I really do n-need to go, Scavenger’s trying to-to paint the ceiling and if-f he isn’t c-careful he’s gonna end up falling and_ Scavenger _!–_ »

The call ends with that, leaving Ironhide torn between worry for both Mixmaster and Scavenger, his own nerves, and amusement at the entire situation as a whole. He shakes his helm. It’s all just _ridiculous_ , but really he would expect nothing else from all of it. Nor would he have it any other way.

Still marveling at how he’s gotten himself into this mess, Ironhide keys open the door and is just about to step into the hall when he comes face-to-face with four _not exactly happy_ -looking Constructicons. In the lead is Hook, undoubtedly the most terrifying of them all.

“I think we should have a little chat,” the medic says, narrowing his optics at the weaponsmith. Ironhide’s intake clicks as he swallows.

He’s going to need more than an hour.


End file.
